


Errand

by sunflowerseed



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 03:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8354752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseed/pseuds/sunflowerseed
Summary: ' This place is in a fucking state.’ Eames tells Arthur back in the hotel room and if they're honest it sounds a lot more like: you’re in a fucking state.‘ I know.’ Arthur grumbles pulling off his tie. ‘ Shut up.’





	

**Author's Note:**

> a little thing that's been kicking around on my hard drive

Arthur lives increasingly in hypotheticals these days. He is constantly thinking ahead, trying to determine how things will transpire. It’s mostly a product of his working schedule. Before Cobb was granted access back into the United States they were working something like sixty hour weeks. Cobb was always sure to give them time between jobs, time to convalesce. If Arthur had it his way it’d be a whole other story. So now that he is on his own he can hardly distinguish his work from all the subsidiary details. Anytime not explicitly spent working is spent writing frantically in his moleskin and starring off distantly into empty space toiling about said work. It’s months of this before he resurfaces and the only reason he does is because there is a firm knock at his door. It’s not an ordinary knock, it’s strangely rhythmic and almost captures a tune but fails. He hasn’t ordered anything from room service and none of the people on this job know where he’s staying. So Arthur hesitates and opens his door assured by the gun strapped to his waist. Eames looks pleasantly surprised and commandeers the hotel room, mostly because Arthur allows him to.

‘ How can I help you.’ Arthur says dryly when Eames fails to hold the conversation past hello.

Eames looks around the messy room appreciatively. He’s taken up the seat Arthur was in, so he stands uncomfortably in the middle of the room.

‘ You’ve got Cobb in a tizzy, pet.’

Arthur gives a heaving sigh. Cobb had tried to get in contact with him, on numerous occasion, and Arthur had failed to reply on every one. He’s past his upset at Cobb for putting all their lives at risk. It’s what he had to do. What Arthur probably would have done. That’s not the problem. Arthur was Cobb’s point man. Now that he’s gone and become a stay at home dad Arthur doesn’t know what he could possibly want from him. How Arthur could possibly fit into his humdrum dad life. ‘ And you are what? Running his errands?’

Eames grins. ‘ You with your foreplay. I could be your errand boy if you like.’

Arthur pulls a face.

‘ He just wants to know that you’re alright, love.’

‘ Well-’ Arthur motions around the room and doesn’t intend to finish whatever it is he was going to say because, really?

‘ Well?’

Arthur shrugs. ‘ I’m fine, Eames. Just tell him I’m fine.’

‘ Right-o.’ Eames says taking a long pause to look around the room before hoisting himself back up and surely, Arthur thinks, this can’t be it. He can’t have flown seven thousand miles all for such a brief and uneventful conversation.

Eames moves toward him and Arthur holds onto his breath.

He pauses in front of the door. ’ James and Philipa talk about you, you know.’

Arthur’s hands prickle at his side and he looks blankly at Eames. ‘ Have you eaten?’

Arthur drinks whiskey and bitches about the job he’s on.  
Eames eats an entire plate of chips and takes pity on him.

‘ So you really came all this way to check on me for Cobb?’ Arthur finally asks leaning bodily over the rickety table between them.

It’s sordid but the last few months have been something of a self inflicted personal hell and he thinks he’s earned this.

Eames gives a shallow sigh and says softly. ‘ I was close by, Arthur.’

Arthur’s fingers barely glance over the back of Eames’ neck before he kisses him. It’s hard for him sometimes, to maintain his composure around Eames. Especially when he goes out of his way to make sure Arthur’s not in a gutter somewhere. 

‘ This place is in a fucking state.’ Eames tells Arthur back in the hotel room and if they're honest it sounds a lot more like: you’re in a fucking state.

‘ I know.’ Arthur grumbles pulling off his tie. ‘ Shut up.’

Eames is wriggling out of his trousers on the taut bed sheets a smug smile spread across his face. ‘ I like it.’

Arthur kneels on the bed between Eames legs and looks at him curiously. ‘ Do you?’

‘ You were always too organized.’ He huffs out. ‘ I like you messy.’

And Arthur grins because Eames can hardly ever speak without being filthy.

His left shoulder aches in the morning. Eames’ back is wide and his hair is soft at the nape of his neck. There’s a tattoo on his shoulder that wasn’t there the last time Arthur saw him and he frowns briefly to himself before leaving for work. He spends the few hours there distracted and leaves early to hightail it back to the hotel. He deflates at the sight of a made up bed and curtains pulled open wide. He strips down to his undershirt and shoulders sleepily into the bathroom. Eames is half sat on the counter; a towel around his waist and another draped across his shoulders. He looks hardly startled, chin tilted toward the mirror and a pair of tweezers held delicately between his fingers.

‘ Hi.’ Eames says easily, cape slipping off his back.

Arthur watches.

Eames interprets his silence as questioning and he returns to examining his eyebrows. ‘ I’ve done my piece, Arthur. I’m not going to force you on a plane.’

‘ As if you could.’ Arthur retorts.

The job goes over smoothly and Arthur’s bank account is happy. His bags are both filled past capacity with clothing Eames had bought since he’d failed to bring anything of his own. The two of them take a taxi to the airport and Arthur maintains his customarily grim expression as they’re going through security; taking off his shoes and parting with the sunglasses seemingly attached to his face. Eames chats amiably with the people left jilted in Arthur’s wake and pats him gaily on the knee once they’re settled; Arthur in the aisle and Eames at the window. The weather in New York is humid. Arthur’s got an unwavering vacant sort of stare all the way to the hotel and when Eames emerges from the toilet he’s fast asleep with his head propped against Eames’ suit jacket. 

Cobb softens when he opens the door and sees Arthur. He visibly deflates and gets a firm hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He gives Eames a look that borders on emotional and he returns a quiet nod over Arthur’s shoulder as the children descend from the second floor at the sound of company.

Eames doesn’t bank on Arthur sticking around for very long and so they go on living. The hotel they are staying in is generic American luxury. The hard wood floor is mostly concealed by boldly patterned shirts and trousers in dire need of tailoring. The marble countertops in the bathroom are littered with product: razors, shaving cream, cologne, deodorant, mouthwash. There’s a smear of what must be toothpaste dried on the stainless steel faucet and an errant string of floss in the sink. The white duvet is pulled back haphazardly on the queen bed and there’s a single pillow on Arthur’s side. The remaining three gathered greedily on Eames’. Arthur’s clothing is hung neatly in the closet and Eames’ favourite pair of shoes are lined up beneath them. 

Arthur takes up running and strong arms Cobb into renovating the children’s bathrooms. Eames lets Philippa beat him in countless football matches and shows James how to trace pictures out of his books. They return to their room most nights; Arthur covered in plaster and grime, Eames with grass stains on his knees and marker bled into his finger tips. Eames collapses in bed and Arthur makes a beeline for the shower. He’s woken by a cool cheek pressed against his chest. 

‘ Sleep.’ Arthur says pressing closer along his side. Eames wakes well before Arthur, buys them breakfast from the shop down the road and reads a book he bought from the charity shop downtown. Arthur eats in bed and changes into something a bit more breathable. He pounds his feet into the pavement until they go numb and he can’t think. 

There are questions that beg answering and when Eames comes in the door wearing a grey newsboy cap, a faded red cast iron teapot under his arm and a gold wall clock grasped in his right hand it’s something of a final straw.

Arthur is flushed pink through his cheeks, half stripped out of his athletic attire. He pauses in his haste to give Eames a deflated look.

‘ Eames.’ Arthur says still out of breath. ‘ You have a problem.’

Eames goes past him to the corner of the room that has been designated his ‘junk pile’.

He moves aside the tower of children’s books he’s been meaning to bring to Cobb’s so he can set down the clock and kettle in the navy wingback. ‘ And why’s that, darling?.’

‘ We live in a hotel, Eames! We don’t have room for all types of shit.’

He blinks at his collection of things and looks over at Arthur who’s stripped down to his pants.

‘ Lets get a flat then.’

Arthur’s eyes are trained on the television and the expression on his face remains characteristically unaffected. ‘ I figure we probably should.’

As is expected Arthur goes into overdrive. He gets in touch with the best realtor he can find and Eames’ glad to discover she is far better equipped than most to face Arthur’s third degree. He develops an obsession with outlets and water pressure; testing every plug and running every tap. Eames waltzes into each and every place takes one look and could be perfectly happy living there. Then Arthur discovers what he determines is a pellet of mouse poop in the back of a cupboard or termite damage in a window sill and they’re making a line out the door. 

It’s a walk up with wild plum trees in the yard. Arthur is sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub and Eames is standing with his hands in his pockets watching the water thunder against the ivory ceramic.

‘ What do you think?’ Eames asks looking intently at the pensive expression on Arthur’s face.

He asks this at every stop and Arthur gives straight to the point critiques of every technicality

‘ I like it.’ Arthur says simply, turning off the faucet. 

And it’s the first time he’s said as much about any place yet.

He reaches into the water, elbow deep, and removes the plug. The tub clears seamlessly and Eames bursts out of the washroom to inform Julie that she shall soon be free. And still yet there is much to be done. Arthur wants to take out a wall, and to paint, and to install new flooring. Eames is not very good at handy work and Arthur replaces him for Cobb after a series of arguments spurred by his selective listening. Eames’ things go nicely in their flat. The clock hangs in the bedroom and the kettle resides on the kitchen island. His books, for the time being, get stacked up as bedside tables. Sometimes Eames wakes suddenly in the middle of the night but Arthur is still there, his hair flopped down on his forehead and his breath shallow through his nose. On one occasion Arthur rouses upon Eames’ hypnic jerk and curls in closer to him.

‘ Okay?’ He mumbles, eyes almost closed again, like they’re in the middle of a conversation.

Eames nods and Arthur trails his hand in a gentle shapeless motion across his back. His hand stills on the back of Eames’ neck and he’s asleep again.


End file.
